9:45
by Ziva- Zia- Z
Summary: "I was Mossad long before Tali died." But what was the catalyst that fully propelled Ziva into her father's world?


**9:45**

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Summary: "I was Mossad long before Tali died." But what was the catalyst that fully propelled Ziva into her father's world?**

_Tel Aviv, Israel_

_2000_

She rushed through the hospital doors, the news still ringing in her head. She'd been at University when one of her father's advisers had come and removed her from class, giving her the horrifying information there in the hall, behind the closed classroom door. The bell had rung, releasing the classes, and as her friends and classmates left the rooms, heading for other classes, for the cafeteria, or home for the night, she just stood there, tears shining in her eyes, as she asked Bashan again and again-

_Are you sure?_

With his simple nod, she'd rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and painstakingly blinked the tears away, before slinging her bag over her shoulder and striding past him. He'd watched, silently, as the five-foot-three, dark-haired, dark-eyed, normally curious ball of energy walked off, now reduced to a simpering shell of the girl Bashan had watched grow up.

He'd followed, joining her at the car, only to find the girl sitting in the passenger seat, having picked the lock not long after arriving at the vehicle. As he climbed into the driver's seat, she'd pulled out a book, and he'd let his gaze flit to the title before returning to the task at hand.

_The Secret Garden_

He remembered the story well; the orphaned English girl, sent to live at Misselthwaite Manor with her reclusive uncle, bedridden, spoiled cousin, and the staff of Yorkshire servants. Bashan was certain that she saw parallels between her own life and the famous novel- the loss of a parent, the cold, distant reclusive-ness of a family member, living in a world where your very presence wasn't wanted, and finding the one thing that wanted you.

Though Eli was still alive, the man was distant, terribly so- focused only on his work, on Mossad, on shaping and turning this agency into the best in Israel. With his wife's death four months earlier, he'd buried himself deeper into his work, leaving his children to fend for themselves, wading through the grief that seemed to envelope them like quicksand. Rivka's death had been particularly hard on Bashan's young charge- Eli's oldest daughter, Ziva. At eighteen she'd buried her mother, before locking herself away at University; diving among her books and classes and friends to escape the pain Rivka's passing had caused in her heart.

It was no secret that Ziva had been Rivka's favorite, her baby girl, the one that Rivka adored and spoiled all throughout her childhood. She loved her younger daughter, yes, but Ziva... Ziva was hers; her heart, her soul. But she'd been ripped from the girl's life thanks to a bomb blast in Amman, when up visiting Shamira, her twin sister. The blast had been so bad, it had destroyed almost the entire block, killing hundreds and trapping thousands within shops, cafes, apartments. Shamira herself had come down to Tel Aviv to deliver the news, but of all of them, Ziva had reacted the worse. She still bore the scars on her hands from the bits and pieces that had lodged within her palms when she'd broken the mirror in her room.

Bashan sighed; the family had just been getting back to normal, finally becoming a semblance of its former self, and now this had to go and happen-

The ride passed in silence, only the occasional turning of a page interrupting the quiet. When they finally pulled up into the hospital parking lot, the girl leapt out, grabbing her things and rushing for the door. It took all Bashan's control not to yell at her and tell her to wait, that she didn't know which room, or what floor. But he let her go, telling himself that the last thing she needed was to be chided, as if she were a small child who'd broken a vase.

His feet took him into the hospital, the nurse's soft voice directed him where to go, and he soon found himself standing in the doorway of the room she'd been placed in. Ziva's bag lay on the floor forgotten, her book open and upside down beside it, pages bending and creasing- something she'd normally be worried about- and her jacket was laying in a heap in the middle of the room, as though she'd dropped it upon entrance. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, shutting the door softly, but the older girl didn't look as he moved around to the foot of the bed, and he realized why.

Those brown eyes- those beautiful, enchanting, mysterious brown eyes- were wide as saucers, staring transfixed at the girl within the bed. Her mouth was closed, jaw clenched lightly. She took soft, small breaths through her nose, as though she were afraid to wake the bed's occupant. The person lying in the bed would never be woken, she would never wake again. Would never breathe again, not on her own. Would never do anything she loved to do or wanted to try- there would be no high school graduation, no college classes, no dating, no engagements, no weddings or honeymoons or children.

There would only be heart monitors, cannulas, IVs- helping her to breathe and keeping her alive in an otherwise permanently vegetative state of sleep.

Though she would grow older, she would never see past the age of sixteen.

He looked up, unaware that his charge had spoken, and he now found himself the recipient of those big brown orbs. She studied him silently, blinking unnervingly; she reminded him of one of those Japanese cartoons with the small bodies and huge eyes- anime, if he remembered correctly. In that moment, the mysterious David eyes that were so characteristic of her family, so adored by foreigners for the deep glint of copper that ran around the rims of the irises- looked far too big for her small face.

She spoke again, one word that clogged her throat and forced her to spit it out before silently gasping for breath.

_How?_

He swallowed, giving her the short answer, the rehearsed answer the police had given the news media.

_A Hamas suicide bombing. A solitary car, parked out in front of the coffee shop._ _From what they were able to piece together, Tali and her friend Amira had just left the bookstore, and did not know they were walking towards the bomb._

And though they could check the facts, they couldn't ask the girls themselves- for Tali lay in the bed before them and Amira was dead.

The older girl nodded, swallowing thickly, her gaze going back to her sister.

_Will she-_

He hated seeing the tears build in her eyes, as he told her that no, her sister would never live without the oxygen they were providing her, that she would never leave the bed she currently lay within. Bashan sighed; he'd objected when Eli asked him to fetch his daughter from school, objected that if anyone should tell her, it should be Eli himself, but the man had buried himself in work, turning his attention to the cases that could wait, and leaving this unfortunate task to his closest adviser.

Slowly, he pulled the papers from his coat pocket, unfolding and holding them out to her. She turned back to him, dark eyes darting calmly from him to the forms he held in his hand. He could tell, that she didn't register as he told her that the forms she now held within her small, trembling hands were the release forms, allowing the doctors to remove her sister from life support; that they were the forms that basically told her that Eli was going to let her sister die. He looked up as a nurse came in- a young woman who'd seen too many families ruined by what she was about to do. He turned back to his charge, reaching out and resting a hand on her shoulder.

She shook him off violently, and he honestly didn't blame her.

_I will be outside if you need me._

The door then shut softly behind her, leaving her alone with the comatose shell that had been- as of early this morning- her baby sister. The papers dropped from her grasp, scattering about the floor, and she balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms to keep from crying.

_I will put the machines behind the curtain so you cannot see them, so it is just you and your sister._ _Give you a bit more privacy to say goodbye._

But she didn't hear, didn't register the nurse rolling the machines away from the bed and turning them off before she pulled the curtain around the sisters and set about her work. She watched with vacant eyes as the woman's small, nimble hands worked to remove the cannula from Tali's nose, the breathing tube from her throat, as she removed the very devices that had kept the girl alive...

The woman gently squeezed her hand as she passed, slipping through the curtain and leaving the room. Once the door clicked softly behind the nurse, she slipped out of her shoes and removed the light sweater she wore, leaving her in only her jeans and the dark purple tank top with the rhinestone butterfly design Tali had gotten her for her birthday last year. She tugged the tie from her hair, dropping it to the floor, before climbing into the bed and curling up beside her sister. She snuggled close to Tali, resting her head on the pillow, reaching down with one hand to lace their fingers together, as her other hand moved up to trace the contours of the girl's face.

Over the bridge of her nose, along her hairline, brushing against the widow's peak all the David children had, walking gently down her cheekbones and brushing along the delicate skin of her eyelids. Her dark eyes watched as her wandering fingers moved to trace the soft slope of Tali's jawline, as her nails gently slid along the outer edge of her sister's lips, catching gently on that pouty bottom lip that had taken everyone who met her in. Slowly, her fingers found the dimples that appeared when she smiled, brushing against the skin that she knew they hid within, before moving back up to work along Tali's hairline once more. She sniffled.

"You are going to be okay. You... you will pull through... Tali, you are_ strong_... you _have_ to pull through..." As she spoke, her free hand moved down her sister's face, before moving to brush against the Star of David necklace she wore- exactly identical to her own. Rivka had given them to the girls for Hanukkah one year, and neither one ever took them off. But now Rivka was dead and Tali was dying-

Her hand trailed over her sister's small, lithe body, before slipping around her waist and pulling her closer. She studied the younger girl's face, once so filled with life and happiness, but all she saw was the shell that her father had taken from her. She didn't register the beeping of the heart monitor slowing, or the slowly growing cold that had started to take over her sister's body; she only noticed, only acknowledged that her father's signing of the release forms had taken the only tie she had left to her mother, to any ounce of love that had once resided within their home.

She tugged Tali close, squeezing her hand, nuzzling her face in her sister's neck and pressing kisses to the skin, at the joining between her neck and shoulder, like she used to do when they were little. Little flicks with her tongue- puppy love kisses, they used to call them- something only the girls shared, one of the many silly secrets they would giggle about before bed or when they were alone, because though there were two years between them, Ziva was fiercely protective of Tali, and Tali absolutely adored her.

In her innocent eyes, Ziva could do no wrong. She wasn't the troublemaker Eli accused her of being, she wasn't being shaped as the killer he longed for. She was just Ziva, her big sister, her best friend.

She lifted her head, staring into her sister's face, before reaching up and gently brushing an invisible strand of hair off her sister's forehead. "Do... do you remember how... how we would... make a game out of who could pick the most olives? And... and how I always won because... because you refused to climb the trees?" She struggled to swallow, whimpering. _"Do you remember, Tali?"_

Tears began to slide down her cheeks, and she continued to stroke her fingers over the girl's hairline. She kept expecting Tali to reach up and grab her wrist; for she hated when people touched her hairline, or her forehead in general. But Ziva's hand stayed, and Tali didn't move. "You... you hate when people touch your forehead... is it because of when I... _when I burned you with the curling iron that day?"_ She sniffled, finger tracing the scar left from that long ago afternoon when she'd curled her sister's hair and the girl had moved, causing her sister's hand to jerk and the iron to come in contact with her skin. Ziva had dropped the iron and run from the room in tears, terrified she'd scarred her sister horribly. Rivka and Tali had found her hiding in the closet, sobbing, but all Tali had done was climb into her lap and lay her head on her shoulder, giving comfort she knew her sister needed.

But that was Talia: compassionate, gentle, humane. A graceful, beautiful soul, dancing about with ease in a world where her sister was barely able to walk without losing her balance. Tali had been the dancer, the ballerina; the one who continued her lessons even after Ziva grew bored and gave ballet up for other things- more exciting things, like martial arts and archery.

Whenever Rivka and Eli were arguing, Tali would climb into the closet with Ziva and curl up in her arms, burying her face in her sister's shoulder, listening as she sang softly; a Hebrew lullaby their mother had taught her, or an American ballad they'd heard on the radio that day. Of the two sisters, Ziva was the one that had the voice of an angel, the ability to weave together a story with music and lyrics. She'd sing to entertain her family, tried to teach Tali, but the younger girl had been perfectly content to listen to her sister sing instead of developing her own voice.

She looked down, watching as her sister's chest began to rise and fall with greater lengths of stillness in between, and shook her head, taking the girl's face in her hand. "No... _no_, Tali, you listen to me. You..._ have_ to listen to me, you _have always_ _listened to me_..." She broke down, choking out a sob. "You cannot leave me..." She gasped for breath. "I have no one left but you... _Ima_ is dead and... and Ari is gone off to some faraway country... _Abba_ is never home..._ you have to stay_..."

The beeping got louder, shriller with each slowing breath, and she released her sister's hand, reaching up and holding her face between her palms. She studied her sister's face, those beautiful dark eyes that had stared up at her that day, hours after the girl had been born, as Rivka had gently laid Tali in her oldest daughter's arms and told her that Tali was hers to protect. But those big dark eyes that had stared at her, that had watched her as they were growing up, that had been filled with such love and trust and faith, that had expected Ziva to be there to always protect her... they were closed now, and would never open again.

"Look at me, Tali._ Look_ _at me_." She slid her fingers into her sister's hair, making sure her sister understood the seriousness of her words. "You have to stay with me... _you cannot leave me, I will not let you_..." She sniffled. "I do not _care_ if _Ima_ is waiting, you are _not going_... you are my sister, I _have to protect_ you... I _promised Ima_..." She shook her head. "_I promised her and I failed... I was not there, and I should have been... it is my fault_..."

Her tears dripped onto her sister's cheeks, running down the cooling skin and disappearing into her hair. A moment passed, before she shook her head. "We were going to go to America and see the world, remember? Eat... snails in France and... sleep with American men and... dance tango in Argentina and... live in clay huts in Chile, remember? _Remember, Tali_? _We have to do that, we have to do all of that... I cannot do it without you..."_ She burst into tears, biting her lip.

She leaned down, quickly pressing a kiss to her sister's lips- another silly ritual the sisters shared- before pressing a softer kiss to the girl's lips. "I love you, Tali... _I love you_... and... you have to... _you have to stay_..."

The shrill, earsplitting screeching that came from the heart monitor told Ziva that her sister was no longer listening, that she was no longer with her, and she shook her head, shaking her sister gently. _"No... Tali..."_

Out in the hall, Bashan looked up as the nurse returned, pushing the door open, but he stopped her midway, the door slightly ajar. "No. We need to give her some-"

But the heart wrenching scream that entered the hall told them all that there was no more time; that Tali's time had run out.

When he and the nurse entered and pushed the curtain aside, they found Ziva holding tight to her sister, deep, heartbreaking sobs escaping her throat as she lay beside the girl, head resting on Tali's chest, listening desperately for a heartbeat that was no longer there.

Later, when she returned to the house that night, her father was sitting at his desk, looking through various papers. She shut the door softly behind her, leaning against it. Her numb brain barely registered anything until her father spoke.

_Where have you been, Zivaleh?_

Her head snapped up and her mouth opened in shock. How could the man ask such a question? Was he really that much of a bastard that he didn't remember his youngest daughter had just died? Or rather, been in hospital and _then_ died? In a shaky whisper filled with tears, she choked out,

"Tali died, _Abba_."

Eli looked up, staring at her as if he didn't recognize the name, and then blinked slowly before returning to his work. Clearly, her death didn't affect him the same way it was affecting his daughter. She slowly and silently made her way back to her bedroom, dropping her things on the floor and taking a seat on the bed. Her gaze wandered to the photograph of the two of them on her nightstand, and she picked it up, brushing her fingers over Tali's features. Eyes filling with tears, she moved her gaze to the clock, blinking them away, when she stopped.

The picture fell from her hands, the glass in the frame cracking as it hit the floor. Ziva paid it no mind as she snatched up the small pendulum clock Ari had brought back for her from England, studying the time. She burst into fresh tears, sliding off the bed, holding the clock close as she rocked back and forth.

Ziva slept in the closet that night, the clock- with its frozen time- held tight in her embrace, tears drying on her cheeks.

The clock, like Tali's death certificate, read simply:

9:45.


End file.
